


Form, Function

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bruce Wayne is Owlman, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Slapping, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dom/sub, Earth-3, Flexibility, M/M, Mild Blood, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Nipple Pumps, Obsession, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sounding, Spit Kink, Verbal Bondage, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Talon practices his yoga. Owlman guides him along.





	Form, Function

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SummerHaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerHaze/gifts).



> a commission for the lovely [summerhaze!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerHaze)
> 
> there's lots of yoga in this. I hope I did an alright job describing all the poses, but if all else fails, the names should make them easy to google. I also know nothing about yoga, but tbh aren't we all just here for the porn anyway? go read it....... be free

Owlman owns a great many beautiful things, but none quite as beautiful as Talon.

Of course, he dearly loves his mansions and yachts, and all the fine cigars and brandy the other crime families fearfully try to bribe him with. He adores his gallery of stolen paintings, and he’s put more money into cars than most of Gotham spends on food and housing combined. Bruce Wayne, the richest man in the city, is no stranger to the finer things in life.

And yet, he’d burn all of it to the ground for Dick.

He watches his protege warm up in the Roost, clad in nothing but black and red yoga pants two sizes too small for him. The fabric clings obscenely to his skin as he does a split on the floor, one leg straight in front of him and the other behind him. He can count every one of the well-defined muscles that make up the bare expanse of Talon’s back, all of them stretching and flexing as he bends forward to touch his toes, then up to reach his arms toward the ceiling.

Bruce, still in full Owlman garb, touches a glass of whiskey to his lips and catches the way Talon glances back at him with a smirk.

He takes it as a challenge.

Standing up, he stalks over to Talon, watching him repeat the simple back-and-forth stretching motion a few more times. Lets the whiskey warm his stomach. Then, when he’s had his fill, he speaks.

“Taraksvasana.”

Talon reacts immediately, lifting himself out of his pose to push himself up on his hands. He swings his legs up in an arc, then bends them until they’re both poised above his head. His arms effortlessly support his weight in a perfect scorpion position.

Bruce takes another sip and nods. “Pincha Mayurasana. Split.”

Talon lowers himself onto his forearms, spreading his legs into a forward-and-backward split in the air. He still doesn’t break a sweat.

Like this, his pants leave nothing to the imagination. Bruce takes in the sight of his round, perky ass and the damning sight of his half-hard cock, and he hides the way his own lips quirk up by taking another swig of his drink.

“Good boy.”

Talon  _ glows _ with pride. Bruce doesn’t have to see his face to feel how Talon feels, not after spending so long together. He can tell by the subtle shift in his muscles, the slight exhale of breath, the way Talon’s cock gets just a little bit harder in his pants.

God, he’d kill every man, woman, and child in Gotham just to keep the boy by his side.

Giving in to the urge that’s been with him since Talon started his exercises, Bruce reaches out and runs a hand up his thigh. Talon exhales softly, but doesn’t otherwise move, locked in his position. He’s almost like a living statue like this, poised and on display for Bruce’s eyes alone. Another exquisite piece for his gallery.

Slowly, he works his hand over Talon’s legs, thigh to ankle and back again, first one, then the other. Tests the strength of his endurance by pushing and prodding, satisfied when he still doesn’t budge.

“Good,” he says again, stroking the pad of his thumb over the place where Talon’s leg meets his hip. “You’ve been practicing.”

“You should see my bridge pose,” Talon chirps. And when he looks up over his shoulder to fix Bruce with those devious, sparkling blue eyes of his, even he can’t say no.

“Do it, then,” he says, pulling his hand away. Takes another drink to keep himself from dragging Talon up to his bed by the throat like he so desperately wants to.

Talon lowers himself back down, flipping to lie on his back. Arms flat by his side, vulnerable, he bends his knees and lifts his hips, giving Bruce a nice look at everything from his bulging crotch to his bare, heaving chest. The boy’s winded, but not from his workout.

For a long few moments, they just stare at each other, Owlman’s intimidating silhouette casting a long shadow over Talon’s prone body. This is how it should be. The two of them, speaking with their eyes more than their words, confessing things with their bodies that nobody else could hope to understand.

“...I want to see your face,” Talon says, soft. Too soft.

Bruce doesn’t deny him. Pushing back his cowl, he lets Talon’s gaze roam over his face, from the hard line of his jaw to the cold blue of his eyes. Warmer by an almost imperceptible margin when he looks at his ward. The one light in this shithole of a world, his one reprieve from dealing with meatheads like Ultraman and Superwoman.

“Don’t move,” Bruce says.

Talon lies still while Bruce makes a quick trip back over to his seat, setting down his glass and taking off his cape. He drapes the mass of feathers and hidden weaponry over the back of his chair, and instantly, he can feel Talon’s eyes between his shoulder blades, mapping out the muscles of his back beneath his shirt. He always looks at him as if it’s the first time, as if he doesn’t have every last curve and crease memorized already.

His gauntlets come off next. Bare-handed and feeling much lighter, he digs through a few nearby drawers and cabinets until he finds what he needs.

Talon is nearly drooling by the time he gets back.

“Jaw off the floor, Talon. Remember your manners.”

Talon bites his lip and tilts his head back, showing off his throat. In the world of predators and prey, a move like that, with all his most vital parts laid bare, spells ultimate submission. A deadly weapon like Talon, open and waiting for him.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just  _ really _ wanna touch you.”

Bruce kneels down and starts to lay out his supplies in a neat row next to Talon’s yoga mat.

“Be a good boy,” he says, “and I’ll let you.”

Talon hums in reply, yielding to Bruce’s hand as it trails from his stomach up to his chest. Bare fingers find a nipple, already hard in the chill of the Roost. Bruce teases the little pink nub until it’s flushed a darker color than its twin, at which point he bends down to circle it with the tip of his tongue.

He can feel Talon’s heartbeat thudding just under his lips. Talon, whose pulse doesn’t speed up even when he’s choking the life out of someone. Bruce drags his teeth over Talon’s nipple just to hear that heartbeat jolt again, to hear that sinful gasp spill out of his lips. The other nipple gets the same treatment, until it’s just as flushed and shiny with spit as the first one.

He pulls back to get a full picture of Talon underneath him, hips still in the air, though Bruce can see now that he’s trembling just a bit. Talon looks at him with half-lidded eyes, dangerously clouded with lust. He can tell how hard his boy is holding himself back, keeping still for the sake of obeying orders. It makes his own cock harden in turn.

Forcing himself to take his time, Bruce turns back to the items he brought over. The first things he picks up are a pair of curved glass domes, one of which he fixes over Talon’s nipple. Talon’s eyes darken in recognition, and he watches the very tip of the boy’s tongue dart out to wet his lips.

The top of the dome is made up of a simple hand pump, custom made in blue and silver, with the owl symbol emblazoned on the side. He squeezes and releases it once, and the resulting suction in the glass dome drags Talon’s nipple with it, flushing and enlarging it.

“Oh!” Talon’s mouth drops open and his brow furrows, gaze fixed down at his own chest. “Oh, Bruce…”

Bruce moves his hand to give Talon a quick slap between his legs, right over the straining bulge from his cock and balls. The nipple pump stays in place, sealed airtight to Talon’s chest.

“ _ Owlman, _ ” Talon corrects, head falling back again. “Owlman, please…”

Bruce drags his thumb over Talon’s free nipple, already readying the second pump. “Please what?”

“I’m— I’m being good, aren’t I?” Talon asks, voice verging on breathless. Bruce puts the second pump in place, starts to work it, and Talon’s pitch goes up an octave. “Good for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Bruce says. Once the pump is attached, Talon’s nipples both swollen and red, he drags his hand down the boy’s stomach. “ _ Very _ impressive, Talon. Keep still.”

“Yes, Owlman,” Talon says, and Bruce swears he has the best self-control of anyone on this damn planet. He’d say he’d like to see Ultraman control himself around such a breathtaking sight, but the mere thought of that brute around  _ his _ Talon makes his blood boil.

Using the boy’s pose to his advantage, he yanks down his pants. Nothing underneath, of course. Talon never liked undergarments. Neither did Bruce.

Talon’s cock is so hard that it’s leaking, a shiny trail of precum already messing up his lower stomach. He’s waxed clean everywhere but his head, and Bruce takes delight in running his bare hands up and down Talon’s legs, over his balls and the base of his cock, just enjoying the soft skin under his fingers. Talon dutifully never moves, not even so much as to thrust his hips.

“Good boy,” Bruce says, reaching over to pick up something else. “Eyes closed.”

He can see the concentration on Talon’s face when he looks up, the crease in his brow and the purse of his lips as he obeys the order. Bruce can’t resist the urge to grab one of the pumps and wiggle it around, drawing a filthy moan from Talon’s throat.

In his other hand is another of his custom toys, the same shade of blue and silver as the pumps. This one, an anal plug about the size of his own closed fist at its thickest, he presses to Talon’s lips. Turns it around so Talon can kiss it all over, map out the size and shape of it with his mouth. The toy comes back shiny with spit, and Bruce brings it up to his own mouth to lick up and down the length of it, tasting Talon.

He has to adjust himself in his pants after that.  _ Soon, _ he tells himself. He just wants to enjoy the sight of Talon for a little while longer.

“You’re going to keep this inside yourself,” he says after a moment, the toy still pressed to his lips with every word. It’s a little disappointing to pull it away so he can spread a thin layer of lubricant over it, but he can’t wait any longer to see his boy stretched and full. “I want you ready for me by the time we get to my bed.”

“Yes, Owlman,” Talon says again, although this time, his voice is barely a breathless whisper.

Bruce wastes no more time, pressing the slick tip of the plug to Talon’s twitching pink hole. Even without any prep, Talon yields to him, letting Bruce push the entire thing in with little to no resistance. His legs tremble with the effort it takes to keep himself upright, and he makes the most melodious little noises Bruce has ever heard, grunting and gasping as the intrusion makes its way deeper and deeper.

Finally, they crest the thickest part of the toy, and the rest goes in easy. Bruce pushes it in snug to the base, and Talon  _ moans, _ low and sultry.

“So  _ full, _ ” he groans, tossing his head to the side, those beautiful black locks of his falling over his forehead in a perfect wave.

Bruce can no longer resist the urge to bend over and force their lips together. It’s a quick, brutal kiss, domineering and possessive, and Talon returns it in kind, biting Bruce’s lip as he draws back.

“Not yet,” Bruce says, breath hot against Talon’s mouth. He sets a heavy hand on his hip, rubbing the skin there for a second before pulling away. “But you will be.”

A second trip to his supply cabinet is necessary. Ignoring the way Talon whimpers when he leaves, he goes to get a small, flat box. One quick look inside at all the glimmering-clean equipment, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile.

When he gets back, Talon’s eyes are still closed. Good. He settles back between the boy’s legs, patting his hip in nonverbal appreciation. Talon rumbles out something like a purr in response.

Inside the box are several long, gently curved pieces of metal, arranged by thickness. Bruce picks up one of the sounds, not to thick and not too thin, and spreads more lube on it. He wraps a hand around Talon’s cock to keep it steady, then presses the rounded end of the rod to the very tip.

Talon’s breath catches in his throat the entire time Bruce pushes the sound inside. His cockhead stretches obscenely around the metal, and slowly, slowly, Bruce works it down to the very base, until the curved end is nestled perfectly inside Talon’s bladder. He bears down just enough until Talon, sweaty and trembling, nearly  _ shrieks. _

Bruce doesn’t know of very many people who realize that the prostate can be stimulated this way, too; Talon was certainly surprised, to say the least, the first time they did this. But now, god, just look at him: back arched, ass and cock stuffed full, nipples big and swollen, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

“There you go,” he says, bringing up his free hand to tease at the base of the plug with his thumb. “Perfect. So perfect for me.”

It’s a good thing he has cameras strung up all around the Roost and the manor. He wouldn’t want to let this moment pass him by (though he’s sure it’ll be carved into his memory just as well).

“Owlman,  _ please _ ,” Talon gasps.

Knowing what he wants already, Bruce says, “Look at me.”

Talon does. And immediately, the depth of  _ want _ in his eyes takes Bruce aback, nearly knocks him off-balance. He could see that look on Talon’s face every day for the rest of his life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Biting back a growl, he wraps a hand around Talon’s ballsack and tugs.

“You’re not allowed to come until I do,” he says, raising his voice a bit over the sound of Talon’s desperate whine. Keeps his balls taut with one hand, while the other alternates between moving the sound and the plug. “Do you understand me, Talon?”

Talon makes a wordless noise, nodding quickly. His cock throbs, bouncing up and down minutely with the heavy sound sticking out. A trail of drool cuts its way down his cheek, and Bruce delights in the utter debauchery of it all. He wants to show the whole city this sight, then immediately blind everyone who dared to lay eyes on his Talon.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, because he has to be strict. Can’t have his boy forgetting his manners, no matter how lovely he is.

“Yes, Owlman,” Talon says, voice strained with pleasure. “I understand.”

“Good.” He releases Talon’s balls, watching the way Talon’s shoulders immediately relax. “Now, show me your Simhasana.”

Talon breathes a sigh of relief the second he gets the order. Any other person would have collapsed under the pressure of holding the position long ago, but his wonderful, deadly boy would never be that weak. He’s sure he could’ve held the pose even longer if he had to, but he figures Talon deserves a reward.

Talon sits up onto his knees, facial expression shifting with every motion he makes as he moves around with both toys inside him. Legs spread, he puts his palms down flat, hands turned inward, and leans forward slightly, mouth open and tongue sticking out.

Tempted as he is to make use of that mouth, Bruce doesn’t, not quite yet. He reaches under Talon, tugging on one of the pumps until it comes dangerously close to popping off. With his mouth open like that, Talon’s noises come out unfiltered, little moans and grunts that go straight to Bruce’s cock.

He does the same thing to the other pump, moving it around and increasing the suction until Talon’s poor nipples are more than twice their usual size. By the time he finally,  _ finally _ releases the air pressure and pulls the pumps off, the boy’s chest may well be more sensitive than his cock. His nipples shrink a bit without the suction, but they still stick out, red and engorged, the perfect size for Bruce to take between his thumb and forefinger and tug on.

He shifts behind Talon, wrapping both arms around his front, kissing up and down his spine while he tweaks the over-sensitive buds on his chest. He can feel Talon’s voice like this, the vibrations from every one of his whimpering moans. Makes sure to press his crotch against Talon’s ass, so he can rub back against Bruce’s aching cock.

There’s one more thing he brought over, a small length of silver chains attached to two beautifully-detailed clamps. These, like most everything else he owns, are patterned with his symbol, and inlaid with valuable (stolen) sapphires. He picks them up, attaching each one to Talon’s oversized nipples. One chain connects the two clamps, and the other stretches out like a leash, wrapped around Bruce’s hand.

He stands, rounding on Talon to see his face. A bead of drool drips from the tip of his tongue to the floor, creating a little puddle between his hands.

That’s it. Bruce can’t contain himself any more. He opens his pants and pulls out his cock, pushing it forward into Talon’s waiting mouth. Talon reacts like a dying man in a desert, sucking on Bruce like his life depends on it. Bruce sets a hand on the back of his head and rocks forward, fucking deep into Talon’s throat.

It’s animalistic, the way he pounds into Talon’s mouth. The way he holds his hair tight and grunts, Talon beneath him, drooling and suppressing his gag reflex like the perfect slut he is. This, this primal,  _ bestial _ feeling, is what he lives for. What he deserves.

He tugs on the chain until Talon whimpers around his cock. Keeps him there, Talon’s nose buried in the coarse hair at the base of his prick, and steps forward, pressing down on Talon’s balls with one heavy boot.

The muscles across Talon’s back ripple, every inch of him tensing. He won’t last long. Neither will Bruce, with his cock deep inside his ward’s moaning throat.

Pulling his cock free, Bruce steps back, tugging on the chain.

“Come, Talon. Now.”

Talon leaps up instantly. His walk is a bit awkward, but Bruce eats up the sight as he leads them over to the Roost’s elevator. Lube dripping down his thighs, asscheeks tense around the plug, metal glinting at the tip of his cock… He’s truly a sight to behold.

They get to Bruce’s bedroom in record time. Tugging him by the chain, Bruce leads Talon to the bed. He pulls Talon in for one long kiss, and Talon reaches up to grab either side of his face, keeping him close.

That saps the last bit of Bruce’s self-control. He throws Talon to the bed, kissing him until someone’s lips start bleeding, though he isn’t sure whose. He yanks off the clamps so quickly that Talon yelps, discarding them somewhere on the floor. The plug and sound get tossed off the bed to join them seconds later.

Talon’s arms, strong and lithe, yank at Bruce’s costume until it, too, lies in pieces on the floor. Little brat even snatches one of his knives to cut through the fabric, nicking Bruce’s skin on the way. He growls, hoisting Talon’s legs up until he practically bends in half, bare cock pressed between his asscheeks.

Talon gives him that “Aren’t I a naughty one?” smirk, and Bruce doesn’t wait a second more before impaling him on his prick.

They fuck hard and raw, barely enough lube left over from the plug to ease Bruce’s way. Talon’s moans echo off the walls, high-pitched and desperate, and Bruce leans down to lave his tongue over the boy’s hot, red nipples just to hear more of that sound. Talon’s hands find his hair, his back, scratching long red lines into his skin with nails almost as sharp as his namesake.

Leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his lips, Bruce groans, “Good boy. Good boy.”

Talon, whimpering, wraps his legs around Bruce’s waist hard enough to bruise. Their bodies slap together, loud and crude, and Talon cries out against his mouth, twitching around Bruce’s throbbing cock.

“Come in me,” he says, breathless, practically begging with the way he clings to Bruce. “Come in me, come in me,  _ please,  _ I wanna feel it…!”

Bruce can’t say no to Talon. Snapping his hips hard against Talon’s a few more times, he comes, suppressing his shuddering moan against his boy’s lips.

“Now,” he says, and Talon throws his head back and obeys, like he always does. Comes in thick ropes up both their chests, their stomachs, fucking himself back on Bruce’s still-hard cock as he rides out his orgasm.

They slow to a stop, drenched in sweat and panting. Bruce pulls back just far enough to see Talon — Dick — looking at him with those blue eyes, open and honest. Like Bruce is his world, and vise versa.

Little bastard doesn’t know how right he is.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a [tumblr](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com) and a [twitter.](https://twitter.com/hotdadnaya) come join me there!


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